


Peace At Last

by Mississippi_moon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21614338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mississippi_moon/pseuds/Mississippi_moon
Summary: The price for peace is a steep one. Will Arthur be able to pay it? Alternate ending for “A Servant of Two Masters.”"Arthur is strangely fond of the boy..."
Comments: 59
Kudos: 232





	1. Chapter 1

“Oh, I’m not going to kill you,” Morgana said, sneering. “I’m not going to make it that easy.” 

Merlin leaned away from the witch as she leered at him, but he could only move so far, what with his arms strung up above his head. The fire at the center of Morgana’s hovel reflected in her eyes as she leaned in, making her appear all the more malicious. Being in her presence for so long, just the two of them alone, filled Merlin with a myriad of confusing emotions that he normally kept repressed. Morgana’s proximity alone drew out every emotion he had ever felt for her: first admiration and affection, then guilt and pity, and now fear and anger. Now it was all there for Merlin to  _ feel _ , and he hated it. Hated what he did to her, hated what she had become.

Morgana grabbed Merlin’s face suddenly, then pushed at him playfully before turning away towards a small table in the middle of the room. 

“You see, Merlin, I  _ would  _ kill you, but you may actually be more useful to me alive for once. Despite appearances, I know your value. All I have to do is wait for Arthur to come looking for you, which won’t take long at all, I’m sure. And he’ll be foolish enough to walk right into my trap, like a moth to a flame.”

The sorceress released a small laugh that sent a shiver down Merlin’s spine. It didn’t sound human.

“It won’t work. Arthur isn’t that stupid. He’ll send out patrols, but  _ he  _ won’t be coming,” Merlin said, his voice surprisingly steady, even though he doubted his own words.

Morgana lifted a knife from the table—the same knife Arthur had given her many moons ago—and whirled around, locking eyes with Merlin.

“You and I both know that’s not true, Merlin. Don’t sell yourself short.” She smiled at him, dark eyes gleaming as she sauntered back over to where Merlin was bound. “All we have to do now is wait.”

Merlin clenched his jaw, meeting her gaze defiantly. She leaned in closer to his ear, and the warlock fought to stay neutral. And then her knife dug a jagged line into his chest and Merlin didn’t even know he was screaming until his throat suddenly felt raw.

“In the meantime, you and I are going to have  _ so  _ much fun together.”

* * *

Arthur really was getting really tired of people telling him what to do. He was the king, after all. That’s why he was secretly grateful that Gwaine had offered to search for Merlin with him. In fact, it appeared that the knight was already planning on going on his own, which technically made  _ Arthur _ the one accompanying _ Gwaine _ . Even if Arthur had been condemned to a day of mindless chatter, he was glad that he wasn’t alone. The king also felt comforted by the fact that Gwaine felt the same way—that Merlin needed to be found. 

Every time Arthur’s mind wandered to his manservant, he could only picture Merlin’s prone figure lying on the forest floor, surrounded by a sea of bandits, before the landslide stole Merlin from Arthur’s desperate gaze. 

_ There is no sign of Merlin… _

Arthur felt the heavy weight of those words, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Merlin was still alive out there. He had a strange inclination that he would’ve known if Merlin had been killed. He would’ve felt it. Which meant that either Merlin had made a miraculous escape (which for some reason Arthur knew that was very possible when it came to Merlin), or that he had been left for dead by the bandits and was lost somewhere in the forest, or that he was being held hostage. Arthur shivered at that last possibility. If it were true, he could be anywhere, and he could be badly hurt, or sold off as a slave to some far-off land. 

Gwaine’s mindless chatter was actually nice. It was like having white noise, and it made it easier for Arthur’s mind to focus, and time seemed to pass rather quickly. The sun was already staked on the treetops by the time the duo reached the Valley of the Fallen Kings. 

_ Nothing good ever happens in the Valley of the Fallen Kings. _

Arthur smirked at the words of his servant. Merlin was always right when it came to his “bad feelings,” even though Arthur would never admit it to him. He felt his face fall. If he had only listened to Merlin, they wouldn’t even be here searching for him. He’d be home safe, in Camelot, driving Arthur crazy with his mad ramblings and clumsy demeanor. 

Arthur led Gwaine down to where the rockslide occurred, hoping to pick up some kind of trail there. They dismounted when they reached the small trench, tying up their horses and climbing down to where Merlin was last seen. Arthur swallowed, his jaw clenching so hard he thought his teeth might break.

“You alright, mate?” Gwaine asked, taking in Arthur’s sudden pallor.

Arthur nodded, reverting back to his usual stoicism.

“This is where I last saw him.”

Gwaine huffed, before raising his head to search the area more thoroughly. Arthur stared at the ground, wishing for the thousandth time that he could go back to before that damned rockslide.

Gwaine nudged Arthur’s shoulder, startling him from his musings.

“Arthur… does that look like magic to you?”

Arthur felt his eyebrows shoot up as he turned to look where Gwaine had gestured. Sure enough, there was a brightly-lit golden path leading out towards the east side of the woods, where the forest got denser and darker. Arthur shivered.

“Yes, it is magic,” the king replied solemnly.

Gwaine turned to look at him. “What d’you think it means?”

“It means that Morgana wants us to come find her.”

“You mean, she has Merlin?”

“Most likely. And she’s leading us into a trap.”

Gwaine started to follow the golden path with a sigh. “Not very subtle, is she?”

“No, I suppose not. She doesn’t have to be. She knows I’ll come, no matter what.”

Gwaine gave a grunt of agreement, and the pair fell into a companionable silence as they both headed to their impending doom. 


	2. Chapter 2

Morgana’s hovel was well hidden, deep within the darkest parts of the Darkling Woods. Arthur figures she had to have been hidden by sorcery as well, which made the uneasy feeling grow in the pit of his stomach. He would never have found this place if she hadn’t wanted him to. Although the thought worried him, it also made him more determined. If it was a confrontation Morgana wanted, then hell, she would get one. She had gone after too many of Arthur’s closest companions. Targeting Merlin was a colossal mistake, because Arthur was downright  _ livid _ . 

The king and his knight crouched outside the small hut, observing. There was a dim light flooding out from a small window, but there were too many objects obscuring Arthur’s view inside. He gripped his sword, knowing that he’d have to walk in not knowing what to expect. Arthur signalled to Gwaine, beckoning him to follow his lead. As they got closer, however, Gwaine let out a tiny yelp from behind. Arthur whirled around, prepared for a fight, but Gwaine was just standing there, staring blankly back at him.

“ _ What?”  _ Arthur hissed.

“There must be some sort of magical barrier! I-I can’t get through,” Gwaine said in a panicked whisper. 

_ Oh hell. _

“She’s only letting me in,” Arthur realized, pausing a moment to think. “Gwaine, go back and retrieve the horses as quickly as you can. I have a feeling we’ll need to get out of here fast.”

Gwaine stood still for a moment, as if contemplating whether or not to follow Arthur’s order. Then, realizing there was no other option besides sitting and watching from a distance, he reluctantly agreed. 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Good luck, Princess.”

Arthur ignored the jab and nodded, starting to turn away, but then Gwaine reached out and gripped his shoulder.

“Bring him back.”

And then he was gone, and Arthur was alone. 

The king took a deep breath, drawing his sword as silently as possible, before cautiously approaching the small window. He peered inside, but his vision was still obscured by a large shelf full of mysterious objects. Arthur rolled his eyes. Leave it to Merlin to go and get himself captured by Morgana.

Arthur steeled himself, knowing that he couldn’t just sneak in. The place was too small, and Morgana was too powerful. She probably already knew that he was there. That left only one option: brute force. Taking a deep breath and raising his sword, Arthur kicked the door in and charged into the hovel. 

There Merlin was, his arms bound above his head and his head hanging limp at his chest. His tunic had been destroyed, tattered and bloodied, his torso covered with dozens of cuts and burns. Arthur felt a fierce burning in his gut at the sight. If he had been angry before, it didn’t even compare to now. 

Then he saw Morgana, as an afterthought, as if she had just materialised there next to Merlin. She was smiling, looking unsurprised and a bit amused at Arthur’s bold entrance. She swiftly grasped a handful of Merlin’s dark hair, roughly yanking his head up, and pressed a wicked-looking dagger to his neck. Merlin made a small sound of distress, his cloudy, pain-filled eyes cracking open. Arthur’s heart clenched as Merlin struggled to breathe against the cold blade at his throat.

“I knew you would come, brother. You were always foolishly brave,” Morgana taunted, leaning in close to Merlin’s ear, but her eyes remained fixed on Arthur.

A sharp gasp escaped Merlin, as if he had just realized that Arthur was there. Arthur tried to ignore his pounding heart at the sight of the weapon held so close to Merlin—one wrong move and Arthur could lose him forever. Even though Arthur would deny it, he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything happened to his friend because of this childish feud between two siblings.

“Morgana, release him. It’s me you want.”

Arthur slowly stepped forward, attempting to draw her attention away from Merlin.

“Don’t move,” Morgana bit out, her words sharp with warning.

Merlin’s eyelids fluttered, his breath hitching when Morgana tightened her grip on the blade at his throat, drawing a trickle of blood. Arthur felt sick. 

“Arthur, please.” 

Arthur froze at the words. He had never once heard Merlin use the word “please” in his entire life. It sounded foreign to Arthur’s ears, and he hated it. Merlin was always headstrong in his ways and never apologized for taking initiative, and he never  _ begged.  _ Arthur felt he was coming undone right there in Morgana’s godforsaken hovel. 

“Please  _ go.”  _

_ Leave me. Please leave me.  _

Now, Arthur had heard  _ that  _ before. 

“No time for jokes,” Arthur said, referring back to what he had said days ago in the forest, but his attempt to comfort his friend fell short. 

“No, Arthur—”

“Hush now, Merlin,” Morgana hissed, digging her dagger in again and drawing out another cry. “The adults are talking.” 

Arthur’s stomach twisted as he watched Morgana run her fingers through Merlin’s hair, almost affectionately. Like she would’ve done only a few years ago. It was all so wrong. 

“Morgana, just leave him be. He’s merely a servant.”

“Funny how you say that when we both know it’s not true. I’m not sure why it is, but you can’t deny that you’ve always cared far too much for this nuisance of a serving boy.” 

Arthur raised his sword in response. Because he was done talking, not because he couldn’t deny the truth. 

“You cared for him once, Morgana. Cared a great deal,” Arthur bit out.

Something passed across her face at his words; an echo of the woman she once was. For a moment, there was sorrow and hurt in her eyes, and something else that Arthur failed to recognize. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by a mask of indifference.

“Arthur, drop your sword, or Merlin here gets his throat cut out,” she said, voice dripping with venom. 

Morgana held all the power here, and they all knew it. She was just toying with Arthur; threatening Merlin’s life was just a bonus. Arthur gazed at Merlin’s glazed, pain-filled eyes and knew that he had to surrender, even if it would disappoint him.  _ It’s for your own good, you clotpole _ , Arthur thought with a fleeting smile, hoping that Merlin would understand. Arthur’s grip loosened on Excalibur, and the sword clattered loudly to the floor, followed by a suffocating silence. Morgana flashed a twisted smile.

Then it happened, all in the blink of an eye. Somehow, Merlin’s chains snapped and he sprang backwards with surprising grace, distancing himself from the blade at his throat. Arthur seized Morgana’s temporary surprise as an opening for an attack and he dove for his sword, ready to run her through. She recovered quickly, however, and managed to fling the sword from Arthur’s grip with a flash of her eyes. The witch laughed maniacally as she advanced towards Arthur and raised the very dagger he had given her himself. Arthur wanted to laugh at the irony of it all. 

“Goodbye, Arthur Pendragon,” Morgana spat, bringing the blade down. 

Arthur had anticipated the white hot pierce of the wicked dagger, and he had accepted his heroic end with dignity. But the blade never reached his chest. A familiar blur of stupid dark hair and a red tunic dove in front of him, and Arthur could only cry out in horror. 

“ _ No!”  _ Arthur screamed, dignity be damned. 

Time slowed down as Arthur heard a soft whimper escape his friend as the dagger hit home. Morgana looked surprised again, but soon her mouth twisted into a sick smile as Merlin started to collapse to the ground. Arthur reached forward, gathering Merlin into his arms and falling back with him. Arthur was vaguely aware of the tears rolling down his cheeks as he clutched his servant’s shoulders, listening to his hitched breaths. The witch laughed, and the temperature in the hovel dropped with the wretched sound. 

“Merlin always did have a habit of getting in my way. Ah, well. It seems this time will be his last. How would you like to die at his side, dear brother?” 

As Morgana crouched down and prowled closer to Merlin’s prone form, Arthur did his best to scoot away from the sorceress. But there was little he could do to protect the frail body shivering and bleeding on his lap, and Arthur could only watch as she gripped the hilt of her dagger and ripped it from Merlin’s torso. The cry of pain that followed was enough to make Arthur release an involuntary sob. 

“Who would’ve guessed that this mere serving boy, born of nothing, would be your undoing?” Morgana taunted, savoring her moment of victory and drawing it out as long as possible. 

The moment was short-lived. 

“D-do you know wh-what the legends s-say of  _ your _ undoing, Morgana?” A soft voice sputtered. 

Arthur froze, taken aback by the sheer confidence in Merlin’s voice, despite him being on the brink of death. Arthur had no idea what his friend was referring to, but Morgana seemed to know. Her eyes glinted angrily and she faltered, almost dropping the knife. 

“You know of Emrys.” 

It wasn’t a question, but a realization. Arthur thought he actually saw fear flash in Morgana’s eyes. 

“Yes, I know h-him well.” Merlin raised a shaky hand towards Morgana, and spoke a language that sent shivers down Arthur’s spine, “ _ Fleoge _ !” 

Arthur watched in fascinated horror as his discarded sword rose of its own volition and buried itself into Morgana’s stomach. The witch’s eyes flared orange before flickering out and she gasped in shock before falling on her knees. Her eyes wild, she gazed at Merlin with naked fear. Arthur felt a twinge of sadness as the look on her face reminded him of his sister’s kind heart growing up. 

“You… you were Emrys. All—all this time.” 

Arthur felt Merlin nod against him, and the king looked down into his servant’s watery, pain-filled eyes. Morgana laughed bitterly at the revelation as if it all was a cruel joke. 

“Goodbye, Morgana,” Merlin whispered, his strength finally leaving him as he relaxed against Arthur. 

“Merlin, no. You need to stay awake,” Arthur demanded, on the edge of panic. 

Merlin only hummed in response. Arthur slapped lightly at his cheeks, breathing out a sigh of relief when the servant’s blue eyes cracked open. 

“W-what d’you want, d-dollophead?” 

Arthur felt a rush of hope at the attempted joke. 

“That’s it. Just keep your eyes open.” Arthur paused, shaking his head. “What on earth were you thinking jumping in front of me, you idiot?” 

A small gasp escaped Merlin’s lips as Arthur pressed on the gaping wound. 

“Sorry,” Arthur whispered into Merlin’s hair. 

“No. N-no,  _ I’m  _ sorry.” 

“ _ Mer _ lin. Don’t. Do not start apologizing. You’re being dramatic—I’m taking you to Gaius and you’re going to be fine. You won’t even need to miss a day of work.” 

Arthur knew his attempt at keeping things light was futile, but Merlin didn’t seem to mind. He even had the nerve to crack a smile. 

But it faded quickly. 

“My magic…”

Arthur tensed for a moment, then forced himself to relax, pushing his thoughts away. “Don’t talk about that right now. You can explain it all to me when we fix you up, so you’d better stop talking for once.” 

“I use it,” Merlin gasped, continuing as if Arthur had never even spoken, “for you, Arthur. Only for you. I wanted you to know, before—”

“Don’t say it,” Arthur whispered. 

He sounded like a child, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care because Merlin, his best friend, was a sorcerer who risked his life for Arthur time and time again even though he was constantly persecuted, and still he brought all of Camelot peace at last and now he was  _ dying  _ and Arthur just needed Merlin to live. Damn it all to hell, Arthur needed  _ Merlin _ . 

“’m s’rry,” Merlin whispered, his voice so quiet Arthur barely heard him. 

Merlin stilled, teary blue eyes slipping closed. 

“ _ Merlin!  _ Merlin, no! This is no time for a nap, you lazy bum. Wake  _ up!”  _

Merlin didn’t open his eyes this time, and Arthur shakily checked his pulse. It was weak and erratic from all the blood loss, but it was still there and that’s all that mattered because that meant that there was still hope. Arthur was scared to move Merlin, worried that it might do more damage. But he was  _ dying  _ and God  _ damn  _ it Arthur was done feeling helpless. In his desperation, Arthur lifted Merlin away from the wretched pool of  _ too much blood _ and cradled him in his arms. He headed towards the door, quickly but carefully, barely sparing Morgana a glance as he stepped over her discarded body. His blood pounded in his ears and he could barely think over the roaring in his head. 

_ Merlin’s going to die, he’s going to die because of you—to save you because you weren’t quick enough. You’re never quick enough. _

The king flung the rickety door open, his panic and worry and guilt rolling together and assaulting him while hot tears pricked at his eyes. 

“Arthur?” 

Arthur might’ve sobbed in relief at the sight of Gwaine standing at the top of the slope, holding the reins of their horses. He sprang up the hill with a flicker of hope. 

“Arthur, is that—?”

“We need to get him to Gaius,” was all Arthur could choke out. 

Gwaine looked stricken, his face paling at the sight of his friend, but he quickly moved to help lift Merlin onto Arthur’s horse. Gwaine held him steady while Arthur mounted. He leaned Merlin back against his chest, hoping to offer him some warmth. Merlin’s head rested limply on his shoulder and Arthur’s stomach tied into knots.

The king had never pushed his horse to ride so swiftly in his life. Camelot came into view relatively quickly, but it had still felt like the longest ride of Arthur’s life. He clung to Merlin with his left arm the entire way, unsure if he was holding Merlin together or if he was trying to hold himself together too. Occasionally, Merlin let out small whimpers, or even whispered a few delirious words before quieting again. He seemed to grow paler every minute, and Arthur could only pray that they reach the citadel in time.


	3. Chapter 3

After what seemed like too long, Arthur and Gwaine were pounding through the gates of the citadel. Merlin’s breathing was incredibly shallow, his pulse stuttering. 

“Gwaine, run ahead and help Gaius prepare. I’ll bring Merlin,” Arthur ordered when they reached the square.

Gwaine leapt gracefully from his horse, flying up the steps. Arthur slid off his mare as well, then he lowered Merlin as gently as possible. He showed no sign of awareness or discomfort, but Arthur had a feeling that was a bad sign. Arthur carried Merlin—who weighed virtually nothing—up the stairs to Gaius’s chambers without even breaking a sweat. Gwaine was waiting at the door for him, holding it open while Gaius rushed around inside. 

“Set him over there, your majesty,” Gaius directed, pointing to the patient’s cot near the fire. 

Arthur set his friend down, arranging him as comfortably as he thought possible. He bit his lip, hoping for the millionth time that they weren’t too late. Gaius was at Arthur’s side then; a blur of frantic white. 

“Gwaine, fetch me some fresh water.” 

The physician didn’t even look up to see if Gwaine had gone, but they both heard the confirmation from the door shutting. Gaius leaned over, listening to Merlin’s pained breaths.

“He’s struggling to breathe. Sire, help me remove his shirt.”

Arthur complied—there wasn’t really much left of the tunic, so he ripped it away the rest of it to save time. The king and physician gasped at the sight of the wound, accompanied by the lacerations, bruises and burns scattered over every inch of Merlin’s chest. But the knife wound was the worst of it, still sluggishly leaking blood and looking red and angry, jostled relentlessly by their hasty ride back to Camelot. 

Gaius leaned over, pressing his fingers to Merlin’s neck.

“Oh, my boy,” Gaius whispered brokenly. “He’s lost too much blood. He barely has a pulse…” 

The old man trailed off, sorrow evident in his ancient eyes. 

“You can save him though, right?” Arthur didn’t even care that he sounded so desperate.

“I’ll try to make sure he’s comfortable.”

The air was sucked right out of Arthur’s lungs at the finality in the physician’s tone. The king stared down at his friend, shivering and pale and barely hanging on, who had sacrificed everything he had for Arthur, for Camelot. And as long as Merlin had breath in him, Arthur would sacrifice everything he had to save him in return. 

_ You can’t save him… it’s your fault… _

Damn that voice in his head. 

“Gaius, I know you used to practice magic before the time of the Great Purge.  _ Please _ . I don’t care anymore, I-I just—I owe it to him. If you can fix him…” the king trailed off, unable to keep himself from choking up. 

“Sire, you can’t be suggesting—”

“It’s not a suggestion. It’s an order.”

The old man hesitated, raising a suspicious eyebrow a mile high.

“Please Gaius.”

Then the physician caved, turning resignedly back to his ward.

“I must confess I was already planning on using a healing spell. I regret to say that my skills are rusty, and I might not be powerful enough to save him.”

“Just do what you can,” Arthur choked out, swallowing the lump building in his throat.

The only indication that Merlin was still alive was the sound of his ragged breathing, but even that was beginning to fade too quickly. In fact, he now looked unnaturally still. 

“Gaius?” Arthur asked uneasily. 

The physician rested an ear on Merlin’s chest, letting out a curse as he did so. 

“His heart has stopped. Start doing compressions, now!” Gaius ordered, positioning Arthur’s hands. 

Arthur’s head was pounding, his whole body shaking. The world was whirling around him, and a sickening feeling of panic was rising in his chest. He could barely hear Gaius frantically barking out orders through the roaring in his ears. Arthur had done this once for one of his younger knights, but he had failed… The king steeled himself—too much was at stake now. He would not fail this time. 

“Come on, Merlin. You’re too stubborn to die like this,” Arthur muttered as his arms desperately tried to push life back into his friend. 

“Push harder, Arthur! We’re losing him!” Gaius demanded before blowing air into his ward’s lungs. 

Arthur felt a crack in Merlin’s chest and bit back a sob, tearing at his own lip with his teeth. 

Merlin looked dead. His lips were blue, his face paler than Arthur had ever seen it. It filled Arthur with raw terror, more intense than he had ever experienced, and he had fought magical creatures and immortal armies. The fear of losing Merlin was almost too much for Arthur to bear. 

It had been too long… Arthur saw Gaius hesitate, shaking arms lowering from Merlin’s head. 

“No, no! Gaius don’t stop!” Arthur was yelling now, blown into full hysterics, tears now falling freely as he looked back at Merlin. “Don’t you dare do this, Merlin. You  _ can’t _ —”

And then Arthur was slamming his fist as hard as he could, silently begging that Merlin forgive him for shattering his ribs when he woke. And he  _ would  _ wake. 

“Come on, Merlin! Breathe!” 

And Merlin, ever the faithful servant, sucked in a breath. And then another. Both the king and his physician deflated with overwhelming relief as the warlock coughed weakly, face almost purple, before sinking back into the cot. Arthur wiped angrily at his face, drying the tears trailing there as he watched Merlin breathe. The relief that flooded his chest was almost strong enough to knock Arthur off his feet, and he was panting as if he had just run a mile. 

Arthur flung his pride aside and reached for Merlin’s hand, hoping to offer some of his strength to the warlock, who still looked like death warmed over. 

“Gaius, if you’re still going to use that healing spell, I suggest you do it quickly.”


	4. Chapter 4

_ “Gaius, if you’re still going to use that healing spell, I suggest you do it quickly.” _

The old man nodded, his eyes red-rimmed with emotion and a hand over his heart. Gaius sprang into action, moving around the room with surprising speed. He prepared a small bundle of leaves, and was now leaning over his ward with a determined glint in his eye. 

“ _ Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare _ !” 

Arthur watched warily as the leaves began to smoke and Gaius waved them in the air over Merlin’s limp form. He tried to remember that it was healing magic, but all he could remember was that elderly wizard that had let his father die. There was no doubt that it would take Arthur some getting used to with Merlin’s newfound...  _ abilities _ .

Arthur glanced up at Gaius, who had his eyes squeezed shut in concentration. “Will he be—”

“Shhh!  _ Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare _ .” 

Gaius breathed deeply, then repeated the spell a third time, before lowering his hands. Arthur raised his eyes from the bundle of witchy leaves and gazed back at Gaius, his mouth clamped shut out of fear of getting shushed again.

“I hope that worked,” Gaius whispered, his hands resting on Merlin’s head.

“How will we know?” Arthur asked cautiously.

“If he wakes.”

Arthur was about to respond when Gwaine returned, barging in with a large bucket in tow. The king felt his hand automatically fly away from Merlin’s as if he had been burned.

“Ah, set it over here, Gwaine. And fetch me some bandages so I can dress his wound.”

Arthur watched as Gwaine and Gaius flurried about the room, gathering supplies and administering potions to help with the pain. All talk of magic had dissipated, and Gaius carried on as if nothing had happened. The king couldn’t help but wonder how many times Merlin and Gaius had to cover things up, in fear of being caught. Probably by Arthur. The thought made him feel sick to his stomach—how many times had Merlin feared Arthur? How many times had he been called useless—an idiot—while Merlin was the most powerful of them all? His wisdom and stubbornness suddenly made heaps of sense. How could Arthur have not seen it before?

Merlin let out a small sound of distress as Gaius began cleaning his wounds, and Arthur turned his thoughts back to the present. Gwaine pulled up a stool, watching Gaius intently. Arthur settled for sweeping his fingers lightly through Merlin’s hair, hoping to distract him from some of the pain. 

“Hold him still while I stitch up his wound.”

Arthur and Gwaine each gripped one of Merlin’s shoulders and held him while Gaius began stitching him up. In the state Merlin was in, he could only struggle weakly, his head rolling from side-to-side. 

“You’re alright, Merlin,” Arthur whispered. 

Merlin’s only response was another hitch in his breath as Gaius tied off the last of the stitches. Arthur and Gwaine released their holds immediately, Gwaine offering Gaius the bandages he had gathered to wrap the wound. Arthur returned to absent-mindedly carding his fingers through Merlin’s hair as they worked, until Gaius requested that Arthur help him wrap Merlin’s chest.

“Did I break his ribs?” Arthur asked quietly, swallowing past the sudden dryness in his throat.

Gaius looked at Arthur pointedly. “You did what you had to. You saved his life for the second time today.”

Arthur went quiet, moving to help the old man wrap Merlin’s ribcage as Gwaine lifted him gently. But Arthur couldn’t help but notice the dark purple bruises that had bloomed there from his own hands. It made him feel sicker than he cared to admit, but he furrowed his brow and pushed his nausea away. When Gaius had finished, Gwaine settled Merlin lightly back down. All three pairs of eyes were drawn to Merlin, who was too still for any of their liking. 

“The witch did this,” Gwaine said suddenly, jaw clenching.

“She’s dead,” Arthur said, his voice cold. 

“What?”

“Merlin killed her. Brought us peace at last. But not before…” 

The room went quiet with heavy silence, broken only by the distant crackling of the hearth. 

“He saved my life. Again.”

“He’s got to stop doing that. His lifespan’ll keep shrinking,” Gwaine said, a twinge of bitter humor glinting in his eyes. 

Gaius rested a hand on Merlin’s forehead, before sighing and pulling a blanket up to his ward’s chin. 

“He’s stable now. There are no signs of infection at the moment, but I’ll need to keep an eye on him through the night. You two should go get cleaned up and to bed. It is late, and you both must be exhausted.”

“I’d like to stay, if that’s alright, Gaius. I know I won’t sleep a wink, and you yourself look worn out,” Arthur said. 

It was true—the old man looked ready to fall over, as if he had driven himself sick with worry. Arthur was just as worried himself, if he was being honest, but he had a lot to sort out in his mind before he could even think about getting any rest. Gaius looked prepared to argue, as did Gwaine, but one look from Arthur was enough to make them hold their tongues. Arthur didn’t quite know what his look had even conveyed—worry? Anger? Stubbornness? Perhaps it had been an odd mix of all three. But it didn’t matter all that much, because Gwaine bid goodnight and Gaius collapsed on his cot with a weary ‘thank you.’ 

The king was free to contemplate the past events that had tumbled by so quickly, but when he was ready to address them, his mind went strangely blank. He merely rested a hand on Merlin’s chest, comforted by the shallow but steady rising and falling as he stared into the flames across from him. Arthur must’ve sat in a trance for a long while, because when he snapped back into himself the fire had lessened its roar and a dim light was beginning to poke in through the window. Arthur scooted forward in his stool, his arm falling away from Merlin’s chest. It was only then that he realized that Merlin’s eyes were moving, long lashes fluttering lightly. 

“Merlin?”

The warlock gasped, his breath quickening. “N-no… Arthur! It’s a trap!”

“Merlin, wh—”

Arthur’s voice was stolen from him when Merlin’s eyes flew open. He had been expecting the usual stormy blue, but instead Arthur was met with a fiery gold. The scream that tore itself from Merlin’s throat was a sound that Arthur knew he’d never forget. It was filled with agony and sharp, soul-cutting  _ loss _ . It sent Arthur’s heart plummeting into his stomach. 

Merlin was sitting up now, still screaming and struggling against Arthur, who was trying to push Merlin back down on the cot. 

“Merlin, you idiot! You’re alright! Lie down before you hurt yourself.”

But the pressure in the room began to increase, and Arthur’s ears popped painfully. Arthur felt a hand at his back and he vaguely registered that Gaius was standing over them, probably asking was going on, but Arthur couldn’t hear anything over the awful high-pitched ringing that just kept growing and growing. Arthur wouldn’t let go of Merlin, but he wished he could cover his ears. The pain in Arthur’s ears was growing, and he didn’t know if he could take it much longer—

The world felt like it had tipped over as the pressure grew and became too much and then everything simply shattered. Every piece of glass in their vicinity exploded, showering the room with thousands of sharp projectiles. Arthur had only a second to act, and in a single move he thrust his arms out, pushing Gaius down to the floor and Merlin back down on the cot before leaning protectively over him. Only later did Arthur realize how Merlin-like his actions were. 

Turns out not much glass was near the trio, and the few shards that had reached them bounced harmlessly off of Arthur’s back. Merlin had stilled, and the horrible pressure was gone. Arthur’s ears were ringing, and the yawning silence that now filled the room made it ten times worse. 

“What the  _ hell  _ was  _ that _ ?” Arthur demanded, stooping to help Gaius up off the floor. 

The physician said nothing, his attention focused on checking Merlin over. Merlin, who had slipped unconscious again, though his brow was furrowed and drenched in sweat. 

“He’s popped a few of his stitches. I need to brew him a new potion for the pain before I restitch his wound,” the old man said, looking everywhere but into Arthur’s eyes. 

“I know, Gaius.”

The old man stopped, eyebrows raised a mile high. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I mean I  _ know _ . About Merlin. He used… you know… to kill Morgana.”

“And you’re still helping him?”

The question felt like a slap in the face. 

“Of course! What do you take me for? Merlin jumped in front of Morgana to protect me, and—”

“I didn’t mean to cause offense, sire. It’s just that, well, it’s been a secret for so long, now. I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”

Arthur plopped back down onto the stool he’d come to live on. 

“I’ll admit I was confused and a bit hurt at first. But there wasn’t much time to think on it in the moment, and now all I feel is gratitude. I mean, until whatever it was that just happened, and now I’m just confused again.”

Gaius swept through the wreckage on one of his shelves and picked out a few battered-looking herbs before moving to his cauldron on the table. He was just beginning to brew the concoction when he turned to look at Arthur. 

“This isn’t that uncommon with Merlin. He gets night terrors every few months or so. His magic often responds to it, although it’s never been quite this extreme.”

Gaius filled a small bottle (one that had survived the blast somehow, Arthur supposed) with his fresh brew, returning to Merlin’s side. 

“Hold his nose, sire.”

Arthur did as instructed, while Gaius poured the dark liquid into Merlin’s mouth. The warlock swallowed reflexively, and Arthur felt some of his tension relax. 

“I think he was dreaming about what happened in Morgana’s hovel. He said my name, and that it was a trap. And when he opened his eyes… I’ve never seen him that terrified.”

Gaius just blinked back at Arthur, looking sad, before pulling up his own stool and fussing over Merlin’s stitches. 

“Gaius.” The physician looked up, meeting Arthur’s gaze completely this time. “He’ll be alright?”

Gaius nodded, patting Arthur’s hand lightly. “I believe the worst is over.”


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur woke abruptly, images of Morgana hovering over him, and then of Merlin falling, falling down through a dark pit that swallowed him up and Arthur couldn’t follow—the images still circled around in his mind even as the king stood and paced around his room. After Merlin had mildly blown up Gaius’s chambers, the physician had ordered Arthur to bed. And Arthur had argued—a lot—before their yelling had disturbed Merlin in his sleep and Arthur finally left, feeling much like a dog with its tail between its legs. Which was a ridiculous way for him to feel, him being the king and all.

With a frustrated grunt, Arthur dragged himself from his bed and paced around his chambers, all confused thoughts and feelings from the last few days tumbling into him like a landslide. He would have to inform the people that the threat on their lands had finally been eradicated, but how could he tell the story? He could lie and say that Merlin merely killed her without the use of magic, but the thought of lying felt wrong. Not only was Merlin rubbish with a sword, but he had lied about his true identity for so many years. After all that he’d done, he shouldn’t have to hide in the shadows any longer. 

Arthur jumped at the sound of his chamber door swinging open, and he saw a flash of red and brown. He felt a smile build on his face for a moment at the sight of his servant, but his face fell a moment later when he realized exactly which servant it was. 

“Ah, your majesty. I wasn’t expecting you to be awake so soon,” George said, in his too-polite, overly-formal way. 

Arthur rubbed his eyes with a sigh. “Yes, well. There’s a lot on my mind as of late.”

George laid down two overflowing platters of food on the table before gesturing to Arthur to have a seat, his napkin at the ready.

“Thank you, George. That’ll be all today.”

The servant frowned but bowed respectfully. It felt like the room had stiffened, as if the air itself was awaiting a cheeky insult that never came.

“As you wish, sire.”

The king sighed in relief as the door clicked shut. 

* * *

“I’m glad you’ve made it back safely,” Guinevere said, her smile brightening her freckled face even more as she pulled back from their embrace.

Arthur was in the council room where Guinevere and Leon came and found him lost in thought. 

“Gwaine told us a bit about what happened before he disappeared. I assume he went down to Gaius’s chambers. How’s Merlin?” Gwen asked, the concern evident in her soft voice.

Arthur knew the question was coming, but he still didn’t quite know how to answer it.

“Gaius said he was stable last night. I haven’t seen him yet today, but I will after I have a talk with Agravaine. Where is he, by the way? I sent a servant to fetch him a while ago.”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure he won’t be much longer, sire,” Leon assured.

Arthur nodded, although he felt a frown tugging at his brow. It wasn’t like his uncle to be late.

“Arthur, can you tell us what happened? Gwaine mentioned something about Morgana...”

Arthur drew in a breath, wondering for the thousandth time if he should relay the whole truth. He trusted Gwen and Leon more than just about anyone, and perhaps they could offer him advice on how to handle the situation. But it wasn’t his secret to tell, and Arthur didn’t want to bring unwanted attention down on Merlin before he had a chance to recover. No, Arthur would wait until he spoke with Merlin before revealing his secret. 

“Morgana had been holding him captive until we found her hideout. Gwen, she  _ tortured  _ him for days before… and then when I finally got there, he shielded me. She nearly killed him—”

“Oh, Merlin,” Guinevere whispered, covering her face with shaking hands.

“And what of the witch?” Leon asked, eyes round with apprehension.

“Morgana is dead.”

“What?” a loud voice boomed, ringing out throughout the large room. 

All three heads turned to the door, which had swung wide open. Agravaine stood in the doorway, the very picture of a man taken by surprise.

“Ah, there you are, uncle! Where have you been?”

The man blinked, his mouth moving oddly as if he were just learning how to speak. “I-I had some business to attend to. In the lower town. But, please, I must’ve heard you wrong. You said Morgana is dead?”

“No, you heard correctly. Merlin managed to deal her a fatal blow.”

“Merlin?” Agravaine asked, his eyes flashing.

His tone was strange; guarded, as if he was carefully calculating his response. 

“That’s right. I owe him my life, and he saved all of Camelot from further harm by her hand. When he gets better, I hope to host a proper celebration.”

A small smile flickered onto Agravaine’s face for a moment. “‘Gets better?’ Did something happen to the boy?”

Arthur really didn’t feel like reliving it again, so he simply nodded. “He’s on the road to recovery as we speak. Now, Guinevere, Sir Leon, would you mind if I spoke to my uncle alone, please?”

His friends nodded with understanding, Gwen squeezing Arthur’s arm encouragingly, before they both left the room. The door swung shut behind them, and Agravaine raised a questioning eyebrow at Arthur. 

“Uncle Agravaine, I’ve trusted you with many hard decisions in the past. You’ve always had good judgement. I’d like your honest opinion on something.”

Agravaine just nodded, his dark features growing darker as he turned his head slightly to the left, away from the light streaming in through the stained-glass windows.

“Do you believe magic is right to be banned?”

The lord looked as if he’d been slapped. Arthur suddenly felt an anxious feeling bubbling in his chest. Why did he feel so… unsettled?

“But of course, sire! What kind of a question is that? You know as well as I why your father banished magic from Camelot, and you will do well to remember it,” Agravaine snapped, his voice like grating steel. 

“But what if he was wrong? Do you think we could work with the council, maybe make some kind of agr—”

“Where is this all coming from? If Morgana is already dead, who would even need to use magic?”

_ Oh shit.  _ Arthur’s heart was racing in his chest. Seriously, what was wrong with him? Was this how Merlin felt all the time? Gods, why was Agravaine so close to Arthur’s face?

“No one. Forget I ever asked.”

Arthur ducked his head and just about ran to the door, not even stopping to see his uncle’s reaction.


	6. Chapter 6

“Ow.”

Merlin really did try to keep quiet while Gaius cleaned his wound, but sometimes it was just impossible. The physician meant well, but his hands weren’t as steady as they used to be. 

“Stop squirming and maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much,” Gaius jabbed, but there was no real heat in his voice, just poorly-masked relief. 

Merlin let out a frustrated sigh, but said nothing. He was too focused on trying to keep still while it felt like Gaius was butchering him. For a few moments all that could be heard was the crackling of the fire and the distant sounds of Camelot bustling below them. 

“I never thought I’d see Camelot again. Or you for that matter,” Merlin blurted, feeling vaguely shocked at his own bluntness. 

He never was very good at holding his tongue. Gaius turned and raised his eyebrow at Merlin, hands hovering over his wound. 

“You mustn’t ever talk like that, Merlin. My heart cannot take the strain.”

“I’m sorry, Gaius. It’s just that… well, I thought once Morgana had run me through that I was already done for. That’s why I used my magic in front of Arthur.”

The old man sighed, patting Merlin’s hand gently. “It seems we have underestimated our young king. Not only did he ride all day to bring you here, but, Merlin, your heart had stopped. He resuscitated you, and requested that I perform a healing spell—”

Merlin coughed abruptly, his ribcage protesting loudly at the disturbance. Moisture gathered in the corner of his eyes at the pain of it. It felt like his ribs were grating together, mocking him.  _ Gods _ , he felt horrible. But then his fit subsided, and something lightly touched his lips. Then there was cool, soothing water going down his throat. 

“Thanks Gaius,” Merlin said, his voice rough as he handed the cup back. “I’m just processing—you said  _ Arthur _ asked you to use magic? To help  _ me _ ? Arthur Pendragon, king of Camelot?”

The sarcasm was overpowering in his voice, but Merlin couldn’t help it. He was too shocked. Gaius had to be mistaken. 

“Yes, Merlin. As a matter of fact, I did.”

Merlin felt his cheeks burning as his eyes were drawn to the door, where the king in question was standing with a satisfied glint in his eyes. 

“Arthur—”

The king held up his hand, effectively silencing Merlin for the first time ever. 

“Gaius, could you give us a moment?”

The physician nodded quietly, shooting Merlin an encouraging glance before taking up his basket of herbs and leaving the room. Arthur nodded to Gaius as he passed by, then he took a seat on Gaius’s stool. The silence was stifling as Arthur just looked at him, and Merlin wanted to squirm away under the scrutiny. His head was whirling, muddled with pain and confusion and fear and guilt and who the hell knows what else. Merlin was too burned out to even begin to comprehend all that was running about through his head. 

Still, he felt his mouth wanting to run as it always does. “I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“Can you just shut up for once, Merlin?” Arthur’s voice softened as Merlin flinched back. “I’m not angry, I just wanted to say… I wanted to say thank you for all I’m sure you’ve done. For Camelot. For—for me.”

Merlin stared. His pounding heart roaring in his ears made it hard for him to hear. There’s no way he could’ve heard that right. Arthur was  _ thanking  _ him? 

“How long have you been doing, y’know, sorcery? Did Gaius teach you?”

Merlin opened his mouth to respond, but his brain felt like it had short-circuited. Why was Arthur taking this so well? The warlock had often pictured this moment in his mind, but it never went down like this. He didn’t think it to be possible.

Arthur let out a small laugh, but his eyes were kind. “Merlin, you’re looking quite like a startled stoat. The one time I want you to talk, and you’ve got nothing?”

Merlin swallowed, his throat working.  _ Just say something, you idiot _ , Merlin thought. The voice in his head sounded suspiciously prat-like.

“Sorry, sire—”

“ _ Sire _ ?” 

“Arthur. I was expecting, I dunno, more yelling.”

The king shrugged then, looking almost casual. It confused Merlin even more. 

“I wanted to yell at first, but then there was that whole ordeal with you almost dying, and my instincts just kicked in. My gut told me that I was right to bring you back home. I’ve been conditioned to believe that magic is evil my entire life, but it all just didn’t matter to me anymore. Because you saved me, again, and I couldn’t let you die.” 

Moisture was once again pricking at the corners of Merlin’s eyes, but for an entirely different reason. Relief and gratitude were flooding into him like a massive tidal wave. It was all so sudden, after years of secrecy and fear and pain, it was all just gone. Like, like magic. 

“Thanks for that,” Merlin managed, although his voice wavered a bit. 

And then Arthur did the most un-Arthur-like thing ever. He hugged Merlin. And everything that had welled up in him for so long broke abruptly, and Merlin simply released his hold on all of it and let himself cry. Onto the king’s shoulder. It was all so utterly ridiculous that Merlin laughed a bit, sounding slightly hysterical. But he didn’t care, because he finally felt completely safe in Camelot, and somehow Arthur didn’t hate him. 

It felt so foreign to be this vulnerable in front of Arthur, but Merlin felt strangely comfortable—even comforted—in his friend’s embrace. But Arthur pulled away a moment later, clearing his throat. His eyes looked a little glassy. 

“You’re such a girl’s petticoat,” Arthur said with a wet laugh. 

Merlin gasped out a small laugh, his ribs and wound aching in response but he barely even felt it. Because everything had clicked back into place, and it felt almost normal again. 

That is, until Arthur began asking millions of questions. “Who’s Emrys?”

Merlin sucked in a breath.  _ That  _ was a very long story. Merlin’s journey from the very beginning was messy and complicated, but he did his best to answer Arthur’s questions openly. It was like starting over with a clean slate, and from here on, he and Arthur would build a new story together. The king and his warlock. 

There were things that shocked Arthur; made his face red with embarrassment, or anger. But the more Merlin explained, the more compassionate, or even sympathetic, Arthur looked. 

“Let me get this straight. I didn’t kill that dragon?”

Merlin huffed, not even hiding his annoyance anymore. “No, we’ve been over this. Twice, already. Your lazy prat buttocks took a nap while I banished the dragon. Now, as I was saying—”

“I can’t believe you didn’t kill it!”

“Yes, well, I showed him mercy. And since then, he’s saved my life—and yours, indirectly—hundreds of times. He’s the one whom I forged your sword with—”

“ _ You _ forged my sword? Merlin, that’s impossible. It was in a  _ stone _ .”

“And who do you think put it there?” 

Arthur blinked, his mouth hanging open. Merlin fought the urge to laugh. He looked like a bone-idle toad. 

“I forged it with the dragon’s breath. The sword can kill immortal beings, and even high priestesses…” Merlin trailed off, his throat suddenly dry and prickling. 

Arthur’s eyes had that glassy look again and his gaze dropped to the floor.

“Did she die quickly?” Merlin asked, his voice growing quiet. 

“I hope so. Even after all she had done, I still saw the girl I used to know, before…” Merlin nodded silently in agreement, and Arthur shook himself before continuing, “it all went down so fast, and I was in such a hurry to get out of there that I even left that sword behind—”

Merlin sat up so quickly he started seeing spots. “You _ what? _ ”

Arthur looked startled. He gripped Merlin’s shoulders apprehensively. 

“It’s alright, Merlin. I have plenty of swords here,” the king said casually, as if the world wasn’t toppling over. 

Oh wait, that was  _ Merlin _ toppling over. Or at least, his vision was doing some inconvenient somersaults, making him extremely dizzy. The black spots returned to obscure his vision, and Merlin felt like he could hear them laughing at him. 

“—lin? Merlin, what is it?”

His vertigo cleared somewhat, and his vision filled with the face of a worried king hovering over him. 

“Arthur, you have to get that sword. It’s dangerous. It’s only meant to be wielded by you, and you alone. Someone might find it.”

“You need rest, Merlin. You’ve over-exerted yourself.”

Merlin raised his arms to grip Arthur’s, which were still holding his own shoulders steady. Hazy blue eyes met Arthur’s concerned ones. 

“Promise me you’ll retrieve it as soon as you can.”

“Merlin—”

“ _ Promise me. _ ”

Arthur searched Merlin’s eyes, his expression pensive, before finally nodding. “Alright. If it really means that much to you, I’ll send a group of knights at first light.”

“Arthur, no! It has to be you. Only you are meant to possess such a weapon.”

“You don’t think my knights are capable?”

“Of course I do! But this is a sacred weapon, and I made an oath that no one else would ever touch it, and when I make an oath with that surly old dragon—”

“Alright, Merlin! I’ll go. Lords, do you ever shut up?”

Merlin leaned back into the cot, smiling with relief and a bit of triumph. “You know I don’t, sire.”

Arthur started to say something else, but the words were lost to Merlin as his eyes began to close. All the warlock remembered was the feeling of a scratchy blanket being pulled up to his chin, and a soft word that sounded suspiciously like ‘idiot’ before he tumbled back into a deep sleep. 

* * *

**I know that “The Sword in the Stone” comes after “A Servant of Two Masters,” but I’m choosing to ignore that fact because it makes this story easier for me to write. Is that allowed? Lol I’m doing it anyways. Thanks for reading and for all the feedback, you guys!**


	7. Chapter 7

Arthur’s horse had been prepared before he even reached the stables. George was the most efficient servant the king had ever seen, and he hated it. But he plastered on a smile, thanking the servant for his diligence. As George bowed in response, Arthur wondered why he was dressed so similarly to another certain manservant he knew. Did all manservants dress this way, or was the universe just mocking Arthur? 

The king shook himself, preparing to mount his mare. 

“Are you sure you won’t need me along, sire?” George asked, his tone uncertain.

“We’ll be alright. We should be back by sundown.”

The servant nodded obediently and walked away. Arthur had half-expected an argument, but only Merlin was dumb enough (or brave enough) to openly and repeatedly disagree with the king. 

“Leaving so soon?” a voice called over the courtyard. 

A smile tugged at Arthur’s mouth as he spun to meet her. “I knew you would come see me off, Guinevere,” he replied, stooping to kiss her hand. 

Behind her stood the cavalry: Gwaine, Elyan and Percival. They all smirked as Arthur flirted with Gwen, but the king couldn’t find it in him to care. 

“Do be careful. I’d like to see you home in one piece,” Gwen whispered as the knights brushed past her to mount their horses. 

“Always,” Arthur said, kissing her chocolate curls before turning back to his own horse. 

“Is Lord Agravaine still coming? It’s not like him to be late,” Elyan said, glancing around the courtyard for any sign of Arthur’s uncle. 

“I’m sure he won’t be long. He seemed very eager to come. Said it might be dangerous.”

* * *

Merlin’s eyes fluttered as the pale sunlight streaming in from the window beckoned him to the waking world. He shifted a bit, surprised to discover that he was feeling less like his whole body was on fire. Perhaps it had something to do with Gaius’s healing spell combined with Merlin’s own magic at work, speeding up the process. Whatever the case, he was more than grateful for it. 

Merlin couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a restful sleep. He was healing, Arthur had accepted his magic (that wasn’t some kind of fever dream, right?), and he had actually listened to Merlin about the whole sword business. Which meant that Arthur still trusted him. 

Merlin glanced back at the window. Judging by the height of the sun, it was still early morning. Perhaps if he hurried, Merlin could meet up with Arthur and his cavalry. Even with Morgana gone, there were still plenty of threats out there. The king still needed Merlin’s protection. 

_ What was I thinking, sending him out there without me? _

Merlin sat up, albeit slowly, and prepared a list of things he’d need on the journey in his mind. The door opened, and Merlin froze. 

“I know what you’re going to say, Gaius—”

The words caught in his throat, because Gaius wasn’t standing there. No, instead there was a dark, hooded figure lurking in the doorway. The man removed his hood, and Merlin’s heart thumped harder.  _ Agravaine.  _

“Lord Agravaine. Can I help you with something?” Merlin ground out, trying and failing to keep his voice steady.

The lord smiled, but it looked more like a sneer. “I hope you can. You see, naturally, I searched for Gaius first, but he had urgent business to attend to this morning.”

Merlin didn’t respond, but nodded for the man to continue. His heart was still racing. 

“I was told that young Guinevere was to be here at your side, but she went to go see her king off. It’s perfect, really, as this is a sensitive matter.”

“What are you talking about?” Merlin demanded, all pretenses of politeness gone. 

Merlin’s skin was crawling, alarm bells going off in his head. What was Agravaine still doing here? Merlin had almost expected the man to run after the news of Morgana. What was his play, now? 

Agravaine frowned at Merlin’s tone, but for some reason, he didn’t address it. “I was hoping you could help me identify these,” Agravaine said, holding up two small vials, “you are the physician’s apprentice, and a clever boy, if I might add.”

Merlin blinked. Of all the things he had been expecting, it surely wasn’t a  _ compliment.  _ From Agravaine, no less. 

The warlock nodded, straining his eyes to take in the liquids in each of the small bottles. “I’m not sure about the clear one, sire. I’d have to examine it more closely. But the greenish one looks like it could be some kind of sleeping draught.”

Agravaine’s eyes flashed, and Merlin recoiled, wondering if he could survive a jump out the window. 

“It’s actually called valerian, Merlin. I’m sure you know what it does.”

Merlin’s eyes widened as Agravaine grabbed his jaw and uncapped the vial. 

“No!” Merlin cried, and his limbs went wild as he fought to escape the man’s grip. 

Agravaine grunted as Merlin’s fist hit him just below the eye. He would’ve been proud of himself, but instead he felt his body falling off of the cot and onto the hard floor below. The warlock couldn’t stifle the cry of pain that escaped him as he felt his cracked ribs hit the ground and his wound was jostled. 

Agravaine seized his advantage, twisting around and holding Merlin in a chokehold. Again, he forced Merlin’s mouth open, and Merlin reached desperately for his magic. But his magic fled inside him, still focused on healing his body. And then Agravaine was pouring the valerian down Merlin’s throat, holding his hand over his mouth and nose until the warlock reflexively swallowed.

“That’s it. There’s a good boy, Merlin,” Agravaine whispered, almost tenderly.

It made Merlin want to vomit as he lay panting on the floor. He shuddered as he felt himself being lifted back onto the cot. His eyes began to flutter already, the potent potion already doing its work.

“The henbane was originally procured for Arthur, you know, but after what you did to Morgana… I thought she’d might appreciate you having a slow, painful death. And now, I’ll just have to strike Arthur down and take the throne for myself.”

_ No… Arthur…  _

Merlin tried to roll himself off the cot to scream a warning, but Agravaine just chuckled and roughly pushed him back down.

“You really don’t know when to quit.”

Merlin’s vision was growing dark, his breathing rapid. He could barely move now—his body was shutting down. Agravaine leaned forward, turning Merlin’s head to the side. Merlin’s breath hitched as he felt the poison invading his ear, but he was helpless to stop it. As his eyes closed, the world spinning around him, Merlin heard Agravaine whisper. 

“For Morgana Pendragon.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Good of you to finally join us,” Arthur quipped as his uncle appeared in the courtyard. 

“I regret to say I overslept. I apologize for the delay, but we mustn’t wait any longer,” Agravaine replied hastily as he mounted his horse in one fluid motion. 

Arthur was a bit taken aback by his uncle’s eagerness, but he followed suit. Agravaine led the way out of the courtyard. 

“You know, I usually take the lead on journeys like these.”

Agravaine raised an eyebrow. “I was only thinking of your safety, sire. You know I don’t usually go on such quests—”

“Normally I would want you to stay and oversee the kingdom, but it’s only a day’s ride there and back, and you seemed quite… eager to come along.” 

Arthur had left Leon in charge while they left, so he wasn’t worried. Camelot was in good hands. 

“Well, you can’t be too careful when it comes to Morgana.”

Arthur didn’t respond. He supposed that was true; there could be some kind of magical trap out in the woods, or some of Morgana’s men could’ve found her and vowed to take revenge. He was grateful that his uncle had a good head on his shoulders and thought ahead about these kinds of things. 

Arthur nodded to the guards standing at the gate as they passed by. The small group broke into a canter as they headed out towards the Darkling Woods. 

“Shouldn’t Arthur and I take the lead,  _ Lord  _ Agravaine? Only he and I know where the witch is,” Gwaine said, gaze biting into the lord in question. 

“Ah, yes. I suppose I got too eager.” 

Agravaine fell behind, Gwaine and Arthur now leading. 

“By the way, what happened to your face?” Gwaine asked, although he didn’t remove his eyes from the forest ahead. 

Arthur turned to look back at Agravaine, whose face had gone a bit pink. Elyan and Percival were hiding smirks as they rode behind the lord. 

“I-I’m not sure what you mean,  _ Sir  _ Gwaine,” Agravaine growled. 

“The bruise. Below your eye,” Arthur said after scrutinizing his uncle’s face. 

Arthur didn’t understand why the sight of the bruise unsettled him so much. Agravaine’s expression looked like he had been struck as he raised his hand to his cheek. Arthur supposed the bruise on his face suggested that he  _ had  _ been struck. 

“Oh, I wasn’t even aware of it. I, erm… I bumped into the bedpost this morning in my haste to join you in time.” 

Arthur raised an eyebrow, sharing a smirk with Gwaine. “Lucky for you, there are no more bedposts on this journey that can get the best of you, uncle.” 

Percival and Elyan lost their composure and let out a few choked off laughs, and Arthur smiled at Agravaine, who had gone a deeper shade of pink. Arthur turned his gaze back to the forest before glancing at Gwaine. He wasn’t laughing. Not even a hint of a smile was present, and Arthur knew how much he liked to pick on Agravaine. It made Arthur a bit uneasy, and the small group lapsed into silence. 

The forest grew thicker around them, and the sun was blotted out more and more as they approached Morgana’s hovel. A shiver raced down Arthur’s spine as he thought about retrieving his sword from Morgana’s cold body as she lay neglected on the floor. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to face that scene without breaking down. After all she had done, she was still someone Arthur had cared about. She was still his family. 

Arthur shook himself, determined to focus on the ride and keep himself from getting trapped in his own mind. He focused on the bickering between Gwaine and Elyan—something about a lost bet, he reckoned. It would’ve been funny if Arthur didn’t feel so distracted. They must’ve bickered for nearly an hour, and Elyan’s face was going blue as he tried to keep up with Gwaine’s insistent rambling.

As the forest grew even darker, Arthur’s heart began to pound—was he freaking out? No, he was the king. Kings don’t freak out. But his throat felt like it was constricting, and he found himself breathing quicker. It was strange, though, because it didn’t feel like  _ Arthur.  _ Sure, it was his body hyperventilating, his heart racing, but he felt separated from it, like he was somehow feeling someone else’s panic. 

_ Arthur!  _ A voice rang in his head, breathless and coated with worry. 

Something wasn’t right. Arthur felt sick, like he was suddenly on the verge of dying. Lords, he felt as if he had been bitten by the Questing Beast all over again. Darkness was beginning to close in on his vision, and his heart jumped even more frantically at the notion. That bit was his own panic. 

“Sire? You alright? You look—”

_ It’s a trap. Don’t trust him! _

Arthur felt the reigns slipping from his grip, the world tilting on its side as he slid from his mare, but all he could focus on was that voice as his eyes rolled back into his head. 

_ Arthur…  _

* * *

“—ome on, Princess. Wakey, wakey!”

“You really cannot speak to the king of Camelot like that. Honestly, Gwaine, it’s a wonder you’re—”

Arthur groaned. His head was still spinning, and the bickering really wasn’t helping his vertigo. 

“Sire?” 

Arthur opened his eyes, frowning. He was grateful for the darkness of the forest for once, but he still had to squint a bit as his gaze traveled upward and locked onto four concerned faces hovering above him. 

“What—what just happened?” Arthur demanded, sitting up slowly. 

“We were going to ask the same thing,” Elyan said carefully, eyes wide with concern. 

“Yeah. You swooned like a maiden. Fell right off your bloody horse.”

Arthur glared at Gwaine, but there was no real heat to it. Humor was just Gwaine’s way of diffusing tension or hiding concern. 

“Something’s wrong,” Arthur said plainly. 

“Got that right, mate.”

“No, I mean—I don’t know exactly. I just have a feeling…” 

Agravaine stretched out his hand, and Arthur took it. He let himself be hoisted up off the ground, only swaying slightly. 

“We should keep going. We’ve already lost too much daylight,” Agravaine insisted. 

Arthur blinked, still trying to sort out his reeling thoughts. “Yes, yes of course. We continue on.”

But Arthur swallowed, feeling like he should turn tail and ride back to Camelot.  _ Don’t trust him _ , the voice had said.  _ Who?  _ Arthur wanted to scream back, but for some reason Arthur sensed that the voice was now out of reach. As if it had taken all strength left to send Arthur that message. That thought scared Arthur to his core. 

“I hope Merlin is doing alright,” Gwaine said from his horse, slicing through Arthur’s thoughts like a blade. 

Arthur nodded. “Let’s just get this stupid sword and get back home.” 


	9. Chapter 9

Morgana’s hovel looked sadder and more sunken than Arthur remembered. They had approached it with caution, but it appeared to still be quite abandoned. The whole forest had gone silent, as if every living thing had sensed what had happened here and fled. Arthur felt the same gnawing desire to flee, but instead he led his men straight through the front door. 

Arthur wrinkled his nose at the overwhelming coppery scent of blood assaulting him. But the smell of decay had not yet set in, so Arthur counted his blessings. He stared at the dark bloodstain on the ground next to him, a vision of Merlin shaking and sputtering in Arthur’s arms filling his mind. He shook his head—those memories were still too fresh, too terrifying to relive, despite the fact that Merlin was safe in his bed in Camelot. 

Arthur turned his head to see Agravaine leaning over his sister, who laid over an identical bloodstain, her eyes still open and unseeing. Arthur’s sword was still embedded in her gut.

“So it’s true. She really is gone,” Agravaine whispered, closing Morgana’s eyelids. 

He didn’t sound shocked or relieved. Just sad. Arthur felt a twinge of that same sadness, but he pushed it down. 

“Your sword, sire,” Percival said, handing it gingerly to Arthur after he had stooped to pick it up. 

The blade was stained crimson. Arthur took it, wiping the blood away with shaking hands. 

“We should bury her,” Agravaine croaked from his position on the floor. 

“You want to bury the witch?” Gwaine asked incredulously. 

“We will, uncle,” Arthur assured, shooting Gwaine a look. 

The sun was starting to slip in the sky by the time they had built and lit a pyre, watching another Pendragon go up in flames. Arthur was surprised to find tears trickling down his cheeks, but he did nothing to wipe them away. He supposed he was mourning the kind woman he used to know, the one he had grown up with and fought many battles for. The woman who had betrayed him and everything she stood for out of fear.

It wasn’t until that moment that Arthur realized just how lucky he was to have Merlin for a friend and not an enemy. Merlin was born with magic, and had suffered fear of execution his entire life. But he was still  _ Merlin.  _ He was still overly cheery, annoying, loyal, and protective to a fault. And Arthur didn’t understand it. He didn’t think anyone could ever be that selfless—to lay down their life, time and time again, for someone who might’ve executed him for simply being himself. Arthur shivered, wondering if there was a time when he would’ve actually killed Merlin had he found out. He supposed there was, and it made him feel colossally worse. 

A large hand landed on Arthur’s shoulder, effectively rousing him from his spiraling thoughts and he nearly jumped out of his skin. 

“Lords, Percival! Warn a man next time,” Arthur snapped. 

“Sorry, sire,” the timid knight regarded him kindly. “Time to go.” 

Arthur turned to see that his knights had already mounted their horses, ready for the journey home. The thought of returning home filled Arthur with overwhelming relief, and he gladly climbed onto his mare, his sword secured at his side. Only then did Arthur realize they were missing a member, who was still crouched in front of the fading pyre. 

“Come, uncle. Let us return home,” Arthur urged. 

Agravaine nodded quietly and came to join them, and the small party rode silently on through the woods. 

Arthur had been expecting some kind of ambush, especially after that strange voice had sent him warnings, but their journey had been surprisingly uneventful, even boring at times. And that was alright with Arthur, since Merlin was an overly stressed-out warlock and was worried about a  _ sword,  _ of all things, but he didn’t need to worry anymore. In a couple of hours, Arthur and his men would return to Camelot, and they could all finally enjoy living in a peaceful kingdom. 

“I think we should make camp,” Agravaine said suddenly. “It is almost nightfall, and we have cover here. Camelot is still a few hours’ ride.”

Arthur’s gut twisted at the idea of stopping. Something in him was practically tugging Arthur back home. 

“Not a bad idea. I’m starving, and I could do with a nap,” Gwaine said, licking his lips. 

“It’s not too far. We should just press on,” Arthur replied, getting agitated. 

“Arthur, we’ve been riding all day without any breaks. I think Agravaine’s right, we should take a break for a bit. Then we can keep going,” Elyan suggested. 

Arthur wanted to argue, but as he looked at his knights, he saw that they were all sagging in their saddles. Arthur sighed. He was feeling a bit tired himself, if he was being honest. 

“Alright. We’ll make camp, but only for a few hours.” 

* * *

Arthur was secretly grateful that they had stopped. He hadn’t even realized how hungry he was until he had eaten (even if it was Gwaine’s cooking), nor how tired he was until he was sitting on the ground, propped up against a tree. 

“I’ll take watch,” Agravaine offered. “You lot look more tired than I.”

The fire was illuminating the dark bruise under his eye, making him look a bit sinister. 

“Thank you, Agravaine,” Arthur said. 

He was asleep before he heard a response.


	10. Chapter 10

_ Arthur! _

“Not now. Let me sleep,” Arthur said to that voice in his head. 

It sounded familiar, but his head was too groggy to sort out just who it was. All he knew was that they wouldn’t leave him alone. 

_ Arthur, you need to wake. Now! _

“Leave me alone.”

_ You royal ass. Your life is in danger! _

Arthur gasped. “Merlin?”

_ Wake up! _

Arthur jolted awake, his chest heaving. His heart was pounding again, and he felt that strange sensation again, as if he was on the brink of death. The feeling faded rapidly, but Arthur still had a sick feeling in his stomach.  _ Merlin  _ had been calling out to him all this time, trying to warn him about… someone. 

Another thought struck Arthur that left him reeling—what if Arthur had been feeling what Merlin was experiencing back in Camelot? That raw panic, and something else, something that felt close to what Arthur had felt after the Questing Beast had bitten him. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. 

His heart sank—he had to get back to Merlin, this instant. Arthur rose from where he had been sleeping and hurried over to the horses to grab his sword. It was gone. 

Arthur’s heart plummeted in his chest. He whirled around, intent on waking his knights, but he felt a hand close around his arm. His instincts kicked in and he gripped his attacker’s wrist, twisting the man around and sending him sprawling. The man let out a grunt as he landed roughly on the ground. Arthur wished he had his sword so he could finish the job. 

“Remind me never to get on your bad side, Princess,” the man said from the ground.

“ _ Gwaine?  _ What the hell are you doing?” Arthur demanded, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice. 

“I’d appreciate it if you would let go of my arm.”

Arthur huffed but released him, holding out a hand to help Gwaine stand. The king had expected his knight to start spouting off jokes about how paranoid Arthur was, but all Arthur could see in the dim light was Gwaine looking a bit solemn. Once again, the feeling of  _ wrong, so wrong  _ was assaulting Arthur, leaving him gasping for breath.

“Arthur,” Gwaine said seriously, “I need to tell you something.”

“Alright?” Arthur pretended not to sound as disturbed as he felt.

“I, well, I stayed awake, y’see, when Agravaine said he would take watch… he’s been acting strange, so I thought—anyways, I saw him get up and leave just a bit ago. I thought maybe nature was calling, but then he—I think he took your sword, and then he just disappeared—”

“ _ Agravaine  _ took my sword? Are you sure? Why would he do such a thing?”

Gwaine shook his head incredulously, unable to offer an answer. “I think he might be up to something.”

“Gwaine, I know you’re not the biggest fan of my uncle, but—”

“No, Arthur! You listen to me. He’s been acting strange this entire trip. First with him being late, that shady bruise on his face, and his odd attachment to the witch—”

_ It’s a trap. Don’t trust him!  _ Merlin had said. Had he meant not to trust Gwaine? It couldn’t have been Agravaine he meant… could it?

“Watch yourself, Gwaine,” Arthur bit out, his tone icy.

“See for yourself,  _ sire.  _ Agravaine is gone.”

Arthur all but snarled, shoving Gwaine out of his path to return to camp. His head was pounding, blood roaring in his ears with anger. He was so distracted that he almost didn’t notice the shrill whistle of an arrow flying past his nose, burying itself into a tree behind him. 

“We’re under attack!” Gwaine shouted, drawing his sword and dragging Arthur with him back to the camp. 

Elyan and Percival were up in an instant, drawing their swords and standing at the ready. Arthur retrieved the sword he had brought with him, since his other one had been stolen, it seemed. Arthur cursed himself for letting Merlin down, but that was the least of his worries at that moment. 

The king and his knights stood in a small circle, their backs to each other as their attackers advanced. War cries echoed from the trees and Arthur realized from the sheer sound of it that there must’ve been a small army surrounding them. Their attackers didn’t seem to be concerned about remaining stealthy, since they largely outnumbered Arthur and his small cavalry. 

Arthur held his sword out, but he could barely see it in front of him. He heard sounds of a struggle around him—swords clashing, his knights grunting with effort. Arthur swung blindly, and felt his sword hit home. Arthur felt his body swing into muscle memory, responding to his instincts as he listened for approaching enemies and swung his sword accordingly. But he knew it was all just luck, and that the odds were stacked against them. They needed light on their side.

Like an answer to Arthur’s silent prayers, a gentle blue glow materialized somewhere above Arthur’s head. As his eyes adjusted, he saw three men advancing on him and he sliced them down with one skillful swipe. He blinked up confusedly and saw a small ball of light hovering above him. Arthur gasped in surprise. He  _ knew  _ that ball of light—it had helped him before, when he was trapped in a dark cave, searching for the Mortaeus flower when Merlin had been poisoned—

_ Merlin.  _ Merlin had made that light all those years ago and saved Arthur’s life, and here he was, doing it all over again. From Camelot. 

But Arthur didn’t have time to appreciate it, because more men melted out of the trees, arms raised to attack. Arthur surged forward to meet them. He heard Elyan cry out from somewhere behind him, and Percival calling his name. But more enemies were appearing, and Arthur couldn’t let his guard down for a moment. 

“Arthur, stop!” A voice demanded, ringing out through the small clearing.

Arthur’s veins filled with ice. He  _ knew _ that voice. It was Agravaine, standing just beyond the treeline, sword angled at his side. No,  _ Arthur’s  _ sword. Arthur felt the air rushing from his lungs as two men dragged Elyan into his line of sight, holding their swords at his throat.

“Agravaine, what on earth are you doing?”

“You are severely outnumbered. Surrender now, and I might let your knights live,” Agravaine demanded.

Gwaine and Percival surged forward, but they were quickly restrained. 

“I don’t understand,” Arthur said, almost too quietly.

He didn’t believe what he was seeing. His own family, betraying him  _ again _ ? It was too much to bear, it couldn’t be real. 

But the evidence was too overwhelming, and it rushed to meet Arthur like a punch to the gut. It seemed that everyone had been suspicious of Agravaine, but Arthur had been too stubborn to listen. And now…

Agravaine smiled down at Arthur as he raised his sword in his direction. Two men seized him, and Arthur was still too shocked to fight them. They discarded his sword and forced him to his knees.

“You and your father both have a habit of making enemies for yourselves through your hatred of magic. You had a hand in killing Morgana, and I cannot allow that to go unavenged. Becoming king is just a nice perk.”

“You will never be king!” Elyan yelled, earning a sudden blow to his side.

Arthur felt hot tears pricking at his eyes, but he blinked them away, determined not to let them fall. “I’m your nephew. How can you do this?”

“Ah, you forget that Morgana is also my family, and she too was betrayed by Uther’s treachery. I would’ve thought that obvious to you,” Agravaine said with a smirk.

Arthur’s world had been tipped upside down and then roughly torn apart, and Agravaine had the nerve to  _ laugh  _ about it. He felt an intense anger boiling his insides, but he fought it down. He would have to play it smart if they were to get out of this.

“I did wonder,” Agravaine began, his gaze rising quizzically to the ball of light that still hovered over Arthur, “where that interesting bit of magic came from. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Arthur glared up at his uncle, but he said nothing.

“Was it one of your knights, perhaps? That would be most intriguing.”

“Why do you care? Just let them go. You have me,” Arthur growled.

“I’ll have to kill all of them if you don’t tell me who it was, Arthur,” Agravaine said condescendingly, as if he were talking to a child. “I can’t risk you all getting the upper hand.”

Agravaine was mere inches from Arthur’s face now, and the king wondered how he could have ever trusted this man. Arthur leaned away from him, but he kept his mouth shut, not wanting to reveal the sorcerer’s true identity. 

But then Agravaine gestured at his men, and suddenly there were swords held to all of his knights’ throats. Arthur’s heart jumped in his chest—he couldn’t let his friends die, but he couldn’t endanger Merlin either—

“You have three seconds before they lose their heads.”

If Arthur didn’t make it out of here alive, would Agravaine kill Merlin? Or worse, enslave him in some way? The very thought terrified Arthur to his very core.

Agravaine was counting down, Arthur’s head was screaming at him not to betray Merlin, but he couldn’t let his knights die—

“They’re not sorcerers!”

Agravaine paused, and Arthur’s breath caught in his throat.

“Then where did that light come from?” Agravaine demanded, his hand still raised to give the order.

“Camelot. It came from Camelot,” Arthur said, sighing in defeat.

“How can you be sure?”

_ Forgive me, Merlin. _

“It was Merlin. Merlin sent the light.”

Arthur heard a few gasps from his knights, but he kept his gaze steady on Agravaine, whose eyes widened in surprise.

“ _ Merlin  _ has magic? But that’s impossible, there’s no way he could perform magic in his state, unless… unless,” Agravaine’s eyes widened impossibly further, “he’s Emrys. Lords, he’s been at court all this time! He’s managed to deceive us all.” 

Agravaine shook his head, laughing bitterly at the revelation. Just like Morgana had. And Arthur’s thoughts were once again reeling. A horrible feeling of  _ wrong wrong wrong  _ crept in again.

“What do you mean, ‘in his state?’ Merlin is recovering—”

Agravaine laughed again. The sound left Arthur feeling hollow and cold. 

“Oh, Arthur. You call yourself a king? How naive you are,” Agravaine bit out, raising Arthur’s sword to point at his chin. “You told me the boy  _ murdered  _ Morgana. I couldn’t let that stand.”

Arthur barely felt the cold blade on his chin, his mind focused on one very important person, who was out of Arthur’s reach. 

“What did you  _ do _ to him?” Arthur’s voice was low and dangerous.

“He’s dying, Arthur. Slowly and painfully. Just like you will.”

Arthur’s vision turned red, an inhuman snarl escaping his lips as he struggled against the mercenaries holding him down. “I’ll kill you for this!” he screamed.

“We’ll cut you up and burn your corpse, you bastard!” Gwaine yelled, but Arthur barely heard him over the roaring in his ears.

That horrible feeling of dying that Arthur had felt when Merlin spoke in his mind now made awful sense. How much time did Merlin have left, before—?

Agravaine was laughing again. “The only ones dying here are you lot. I’ll return to Camelot as king, the sole survivor of a tragic massacre by bandits in the woods.”

Arthur’s uncle raised the sword, prepared to strike him down as he hissed, “long live the king of Camelot.”


	11. Chapter 11

As Agravaine’s blade descended, Arthur could only think of the carnage he would leave in his absence. His knights were all doomed to his own fate, Camelot would fall under Agravaine’s kingship, and Merlin… 

Merlin had tried to warn Arthur of Agravaine’s treachery more than once, and still Arthur couldn’t see it. And now everyone Arthur held dear would pay the price for it. He’d been a fool. 

They say your life flashes before your eyes as you come closer to death. Arthur saw a bright flash of light and thought,  _ this is it.  _ He closed his eyes against the light’s growing intensity, but when it cleared, he was still breathing.

Arthur opened his eyes. It was dark and strangely quiet. He realized that the blue ball of light had now vanished.

“What the hell was  _ that? _ ” Agravaine demanded. 

Arthur still felt two arms holding him, but their grip was loosened from the distraction. He seized his advantage and twisted from their grips, stumbling blindly away from where he had last seen Agravaine. 

“Light your torches! Find Arthur!” Agravaine ordered, his voice burning with fury. 

Agravaine’s men didn’t get very far in their search, because something even stranger happened. A great roar echoed from somewhere above them, and the clearing was once again bathed in light. No, not just light— _ firelight.  _

Arthur dove for the bushes as the mercenaries surrounding him went up in flames. Arthur fought to control his racing heart.  _ The dragon.  _ Merlin must’ve summoned it somehow. 

Arthur couldn’t waste any more time. He gathered himself to his feet and snatched up a discarded sword. He turned to his knights, who were engaged in combat with the men who had once held them. Arthur launched himself into the fight, slicing down one of Percival’s attackers. Percival nodded at Arthur before parrying another strike. 

“Sire! We must take cover! The dragon—”

“Don’t worry about the dragon. He’s on our side,” Arthur said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. 

Percival glanced confusedly at Arthur, but before he could question him, another blast of flames rushed in from the sky. More mercenaries were barbecued before their eyes. Percival’s eyes widened impossibly farther, and Arthur shrugged. 

“Merlin’s a dragonlord.” 

Arthur winked at the awestruck knight before he thrust himself back into battle, determined to destroy every last one of Agravaine’s men. For Camelot. For Merlin. 

The king fought with rising vigor, his attacks strengthened by his anger. He cut down his enemies like grain. 

“Arthur, behind you!” Gwaine called in warning from across the clearing. 

Arthur spun around to find Agravaine approaching him from behind. 

“You would strike a man down with his back to you?” Arthur spat, voice dripping with venom. 

Agravaine grinned darkly as their swords clashed, his face mere inches from Arthur’s. 

“I should’ve killed you in your sleep,” Agravaine snarled. 

Arthur let out a yell as he twisted his sword hand, nearly disarming his uncle. Agravaine grunted, adjusting his grip on the stolen sword before lashing out again. Arthur blocked every advance with little effort. Agravaine swung wildly but aggressively, and Arthur was simply locked in a defensive mode. That is, until Agravaine got sloppy in his desperation and left his right flank unguarded. Arthur quickly disarmed him, Agravaine’s sword falling from his hand to the ground. 

Agravaine held up his hands in surrender as Arthur pressed his sword at his jugular. 

“Arthur, I-I deserve a trial. I’m still your family,” Agravaine ground out, chin trembling. 

“You deserve nothing but death for your betrayal! You were  _ never  _ my family,” Arthur cried. 

The fighting had stopped around them. Arthur felt his knights flanking him, but he didn’t move his eyes from his uncle. Not even when the ground shook as the Great Dragon landed somewhere behind them. 

“You don’t know what I poisoned Merlin with. If I die, he dies.” 

Arthur’s breath hitched. His fingers shook around the hilt of his sword. 

“You need me alive, Arthur,” Agravaine said triumphantly, his smirk evidence that he knew he had won this battle. 

Arthur yelled in frustration, bringing down the hilt of his sword on the side of Agravaine’s head. His uncle flopped bonelessly to the ground. Arthur spat at his feet. 

“We take him back to Camelot alive. For now.” 

Gwaine and Percival nodded before surging forward to lift Agravaine’s arms over their shoulders. 

“He’ll have hell to pay for what he did to Merlin,” Gwaine said, gripping Agravaine’s wrist roughly. 

Arthur grunted in agreement before leaning over to take back his sword that had fallen from Agravaine’s traitorous fingers. Arthur turned, suddenly face-to-face with the dragon. 

_ Lords,  _ Arthur had forgotten just how huge the beast was. It towered over the small group, looking just as threatening as it had when it attacked Camelot. But Arthur couldn’t deny that it had saved their lives. He cleared his throat nervously. 

“Thank you for helping us,” Arthur said. 

His voice had squeaked a bit. 

“You have Merlin to thank. His light signaled the way,” the beast said in a silky voice. 

Holy hell. 

“You talk?” Gwaine asked, stealing the words from Arthur’s mouth. 

“Yes, yes. But we haven’t much time if Merlin is to be saved. I can sense his life force fading quickly.”

Arthur swallowed. Merlin had been poisoned—all because Arthur had foolishly trusted Agravaine. That bruise on Agravaine’s face… Merlin must’ve put up a fight. Not that Arthur was surprised. 

“We’ll ride out immediately.”

The dragon shook his head gravely. “There’s no time. I don’t like having passengers at the best of times, but I fear it is the only way.”

“You don’t mean—”

“Climb on. Make haste!” 

The dragon lowered himself, eyeing each of the knights as if daring them to argue. Arthur sighed. He supposed stranger things have happened, and so he climbed onto the dragon’s back. He may have been holding his breath. 

“I’ll hold the traitor,” the dragon growled as Gwaine and Percival approached with their burden. 

The knights looked more than relieved. They moved to climb the dragon, letting Agravaine fall unceremoniously to the ground. Arthur might’ve snickered a bit. And soon, Elyan, Gwaine and Percival were situated more-or-less securely on the dragon’s back. 

“Hold on,” the dragon bellowed, its wings unfolding around them. 

“This is madness,” Elyan yelled. 

“I love madness,” Gwaine said with a laugh. 

All other sounds were lost to Arthur as the dragon released a mighty roar and launched into the sky, Agravaine held tight in its claws. The fear of falling from such a height preyed on Arthur, but the fear of losing Merlin yet again overshadowed everything else. 

_ Hang on, Merlin. We’re coming.  _


	12. Chapter 12

Arthur was only a little green by the time they reached Camelot. The dragon had landed swiftly and expertly in a clearing near the city walls and Arthur couldn’t help but wonder how many times it had done that particular maneuver. 

Arthur and his knights slid carefully from the great dragon’s back. The king signaled for his knights to collect Agravaine, who was now conscious, struggling and cursing in the dragon’s grip.

“Unhand me, you beast!” he wailed, along with several un-lordly expletives.

And the dragon did, letting Agravaine fall again into the dirt before the knights restrained him. 

“Young king,” said the dragon.

Arthur turned, wondering if his heart would ever stop pounding at the sight of the magical creature so close to him.

“Yes?”

“You must find out what is ailing Merlin. Then, bring the warlock here to me. I can heal him once I know the nature of the poison.”

Hope fluttered in Arthur’s chest. They still had a chance. 

“Hurry, and good luck!” 

* * *

Arthur was half-hoping that Agravaine had lied about poisoning Merlin, and that the warlock would be safely lazing about on Gaius’s sickbed, on the road to recovery. But his hopes dwindled and died out completely when he and his knights stormed into the square and Guinevere and Leon rushed out desperately to meet them.

“Arthur, it’s horrible!” Guinevere sobbed. 

Arthur took her shaking hands in his own. 

Leon looked just as disturbed as Gwen, his throat working before he was able to speak. “We don’t know how it happened—”

“Take me to him, Guinevere,” Arthur interrupted Leon before addressing the company behind him. “Gwaine, bring Agravaine. Elyan, Percival, fill Leon in on what has happened, and prepare a prison cell.” 

All orders were followed without question. Well, besides Agravaine, who threw a look Arthur’s way but remained stubbornly silent as Gwaine dragged him roughly behind him. 

“Arthur, I don’t understand. How did you know about—about Merlin? And why is Agravaine restrained?” Gwen asked in a frantic but hushed tone as they neared the physician’s chambers. 

“I’ll explain when there’s time.”

Gwen frowned, but she said nothing as she practically ripped the door open to Gaius’s chambers. The room appeared to be just as Arthur had left it—a fire was crackling in the hearth, and Gaius was sitting quietly on a stool at Merlin’s bedside. 

Merlin, however, was not how he’d been left. The room had launched into an uneasy silence as Arthur drew closer to him, lying still on the patient’s cot.

Arthur’s breath hitched at the sight of his closest friend lying unnaturally still, covered in a sheen of sweat and his skin was as pale as death. The sickness was deep in him, his breathing was labored and shallow. 

“Merlin…” Arthur whispered, the name torn from his lips like a desperate prayer.

“He’s fading fast,” Gaius said quietly.

Arthur looked at the physician for the first time, and was taken aback by what greeted him. The old man looked decades older, his skin was sunken and his eyes were dark, his brow creased with worry and defeat. 

“This is all my fault,” Arthur said, letting his hand rest on Merlin’s burning forehead before sweeping it through the warlock’s dark hair.

“But we can fix it. Starting with this  _ traitor _ here,” Gwaine announced, shoving Agravaine farther into the room. “Tell us what you poisoned him with.”

Gwen gasped, her eyes wide. Gaius looked unsurprised by the betrayal, but a deep sadness latched on to his ancient features. Agravaine had the nerve to look somewhat sheepish for a moment, before his gaze turned cold and indifferent. Time stretched on, but still Agravaine remained silent, his gaze locked on Merlin. 

Gwaine yelled angrily, swinging his fist into Agravaine’s jaw. The man fell with a grunt, but maintained his silence otherwise. Gwaine grabbed Agravaine’s neck, holding him as the man gasped for air.

“ _ Look  _ at what you’ve done! Have you no remorse? Merlin is the best of all of us, and he’s  _ dying  _ at your hand!” Gwaine was screaming, his eyes bright with emotion. 

“Gwaine, you’ll kill him!” Arthur said.

Gwaine loosened his hold on Agravaine’s throat, and he coughed weakly. Arthur wished he could strangle the man himself, but not before they got what he needed. 

“I’ll tell… you,” Agravaine wheezed from his position on the floor, “f-for a price.”

“No, you don’t get to demand  _ anything  _ you sick bastard,” Gwaine said, his voice low and dangerous.

Arthur sighed frustratedly, cursing himself for not seeing this coming. Of course Agravaine would bargain for his life, knowing that Arthur would have to comply as an honorable king. It was either that, or Merlin would die.

“Can you identify the poison?” Arthur asked, head swiveling to Gaius.

Gaius shook his head helplessly. “I didn’t know that he had even been poisoned—I thought it was some kind of infection, or a curse from Morgana. It would take time, sire. More time than I fear Merlin has.”

_ Bloody brilliant. Of course.  _

Arthur would’ve rolled his eyes if the situation hadn’t been so dire.

“Name your price,” Arthur ground out, his eyes shooting daggers at his uncle.

“No, there must be another way—”

“Gwaine, be silent before I have you escorted out,” Arthur ordered, although he quietly agreed with the knight. “Name your price, Agravaine.”

Agravaine smiled wickedly, his face contorting strangely in the dim light. It froze Arthur to his core, and he once again wondered how he had seen this man as his ally, as his kin. 

“My freedom, of course. And I swear to never set foot in Camelot again. I will live out the rest of my life quietly.”

Arthur didn’t believe it for a second, and his gut was begging him not to agree. But then he heard a soft whimper escape Merlin’s lips, and Arthur’s anger melted. Merlin was out of time, and Arthur was out of options.

“Sire, you must think about what you’re doing—”

“There’s nothing to think about, Gaius. I’ve made my decision.” Arthur turned to face his uncle, who looked so smug with himself that Arthur wanted to smack that look right off his face, but he couldn’t. “You are henceforth banished from Camelot. If you are ever spotted on the grounds again, you will be killed instantly. Is that clear?” 

“Crystal,” Agravaine said with a breathy laugh. 

“Well? What did you poison Merlin with?” Gwen demanded, and it seemed as if all the kindness had fled from her as she regarded Agravaine.

Agravaine’s lip curled. “Henbane.”

Then the room erupted into chaos as Agravaine sprang up from the ground abruptly and smashed his fist into Gwaine’s skull. Arthur yelled for the guards as Agravaine rushed from the room, disappearing into the night. Gwen and Gaius rushed hastily forward to Gwaine, who was now sprawled unconscious on the floor. 

“You two tend to Gwaine. I have to take Merlin now, we’ve already wasted too much time.”

“Where are you taking him?” Gaius asked from his spot on the floor next to Gwaine.

“To get help.”

“What about Agravaine?”

“Let him run. We don’t need him anymore, and he’s not stupid enough to stay in Camelot.”

_ For a while at least, but he’ll be back. _

But that was a problem for another day. Arthur had more important things to worry about. 

“How do we know he’s telling the truth?” Gwen asked, eyes wide with uncertainty.

“We don’t. But Agravaine knows I’ll hunt him down and kill him if he did lie. We just have to have faith.” 

And with that, the king scooped up his friend from the cot, holding him firmly but as gently as possible. Merlin’s body was wracked with small tremors, his breathing barely detectable in Arthur’s arms. So Arthur ran—out the door, down the stairs and to the stables, demanding a horse to be prepared immediately. 

A stable boy presented Arthur with a mare, and Arthur nodded curtly in gratitude. He lifted Merlin onto the horse, ignoring the flashbacks from merely a few days ago that assaulted his vision as he swung swiftly onto the horse. Arthur held an arm over Merlin’s chest, comforted by the faint heartbeat he felt there. He pulled on the reins and thundered out of the citadel at top speed.

“Don’t worry, Merlin. You’re going to be just fine,” Arthur whispered, hoping with all his might that it was the truth.


	13. Chapter 13

Arthur was terrified. His knuckles were white as he clutched Merlin to his chest with one hand, squeezing the reins with the other. Merlin looked even paler in the moonlight, and sweat glistened on his brow despite his shivering. But what worried Arthur the most was Merlin’s ragged breathing, was growing more pained in his chest with every step. 

Arthur didn’t even realize that he had been holding his breath until the Great Dragon came into view, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He slowed his mare to a stop before the dragon, dismounting before gently lowering Merlin to the grass below. Merlin was still fighting for breath, chest heaving now, his face twisted with the pain of his efforts. Arthur’s heart constricted. 

“Well?” the dragon bellowed, although his voice hinted at worry. 

Arthur fought to tear his eyes from Merlin’s struggling form on the ground. “Henbane. He used henbane.”

The dragon hummed, his eyes drawn to the poisoned warlock. “That is a powerful poison. I see that it has taken hold on Merlin, but even now, he fights it.”

Arthur held a hand to Merlin’s forehead, wincing at the heat there. But he did not remove it.

“Can you save him?” Arthur demanded.

“Not on my own.”

Arthur wanted to scream, to throttle that blasted dragon and run him through and finish the quest he had started all those years ago. They didn’t have  _ time  _ for this, and Merlin was barely hanging on—

The dragon began to chant. It started out quietly, but grew in intensity until his voice rumbled like thunder. Arthur pulled Merlin’s head onto his lap. Not because the dragon was rather frightening, but because Merlin was still shivering, his lips turning blue. 

Suddenly, more voices joined in on the dragon’s chant. Arthur whipped his head up, searching for the source of the other voices. What looked like dozens of torches blinked at Arthur from the trees at the edge of the clearing. They bobbed up and down, and Arthur realized they were approaching quickly. 

_ Druids,  _ Arthur’s mind supplied him. 

There was an army of them now, all chanting, circling in on Arthur and Merlin. The torches flickered as their voices rose, and Arthur could feel the power thrumming in the air around them, an electric current running from them and into Merlin. 

_ Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare mid þam sundorcræftas þære ealdaþ æ,  _ the chorus of voices called, golden eyes gleaming in the dark. 

Arthur couldn’t control the shivers that raced down the length of his spine. Was it from fear or wonder? Or an odd mixture of both? 

Suddenly the torches all hissed out, plunging the night back into its former darkness. Arthur squinted down at the prone form in his lap, cursing his eyes for adjusting slowly. But he felt more than saw the change—Merlin sighed deeply, his body relaxing. Fear pulled at Arthur for a moment, but then Merlin’s chest rose steadily. Arthur’s vision went blurry with crushing relief.

“Merlin?” he breathed.

“Lord Emrys will heal fully with time, King Arthur,” a druid said, his wavy curls flowing out from under his dark hood. 

“Thank you,” Arthur said, his voice quivering, “all of you. This will not be forgotten.”

“We are servants of Emrys and we believe in The Once and Future King. It has been an honor.”

And with that, the druids melted back into the trees, leaving Arthur a bit confused with an unconscious warlock and a surley dragon. 

“Servants of  _ Mer _ lin?” Arthur blurted.

He couldn’t help it. The idea just sounded so foreign to him. Sure, Merlin was a warlock, and he seemed to be powerful, but… What had the druids said?  _ Lord Emrys _ ? 

“There is still much for you to discover, young king. I suppose I am in your debt, now that you have saved the last of my kin.” The dragon bowed, extending his wings into the ebony sky, “I’m sure we will meet again.”

With a mighty gust of wind, the dragon was gone. And Arthur deflated, looking down at his friend. 

“Slept through all the excitement, didn’t you? Are you ever going to wake?” 

Merlin responded with a sleepy sigh, turning his head further into Arthur’s chest. Arthur ruffled his dark hair. 

“If only the druids could see how much of a girl you are.” 

Arthur rose slowly, his heart feeling lighter than it had for days. As long as he had Merlin, Arthur knew he’d be alright. He lifted Merlin onto the horse, steering them back home. Merlin snored softly, and Arthur smiled.


	14. Chapter 14

“Ready?”

Merlin took a deep breath, but it caught a bit in his throat. He recovered quickly, disguising it as a light cough. He opted for just nodding his head in response, but in his mind, he still wasn’t ready. Merlin still wondered at times if he had been dreaming all of this, and that one day he’d suddenly wake up from it. Or even worse, maybe he had been enchanted somehow, and he was under the mercy of an enemy sorcerer. 

But nothing strange had happened yet, so Merlin had to pretend like everything was normal. His hands were shaking a bit as the doors opened, and light from the throne room streamed in to greet him with surprising warmth. But it didn’t compare to the warmth he felt at seeing his friends gathered there, smiling with pride and even admiration. At Merlin. 

It had been months since Arthur had first discovered Merlin’s secret, and Merlin had almost died. Twice. As he healed, Arthur had worked on legalizing magic again, and Merlin had helped in every way that he could, demonstrating good deeds with his magic to those who were still skeptical. 

Magic had been legal for a week now. And Arthur had sacked Merlin.

“I can’t very well have a Court Sorcerer as a servant. People will talk.” 

Arthur said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and that Merlin was utterly ridiculous for thinking otherwise. Merlin didn’t find himself speechless very often, but in that moment, he had been absolutely dumbfounded.

The ceremony itself was quite short, mostly because Merlin was so anxious that he was stuck in some sort of daze. But by the end of it, Merlin was Court Sorcerer.  _ Merlin.  _ Court Sorcerer of Camelot. 

The feast after was quite spectacular. Merlin realized that he had never been seated at a feast before, and he was at the head table, right next to Arthur and Gwen. He must’ve pinched himself a dozen times that night, most likely giving himself several crescent-shaped scars. It kept Merlin grounded, and he was able to remain present enough to thank everyone who congratulated him.

The room lapsed into silence when Arthur suddenly stood, goblet raised out to his many guests. 

“I’d like to make a toast to Merlin, who has brought us peace to the five kingdoms. Let this mark a time of great prosperity for all. To Merlin!”

“To Merlin!” everyone called back, raising their goblets and drinking merrily. 

Merlin felt moisture pricking at his eyes and heat flaring in his cheeks. All this recognition after so long felt wonderful, but almost  _ wrong  _ as well. 

He was feeling quite overwhelmed, and a bit after the toast, he excused himself from the banquet.  _ Lords _ , why was his heart pounding? Merlin leaned on the stone wall to his left, gazing down at Camelot through a stained-glass window.

“Merlin?” 

Merlin started as a hand landed on his shoulder. He turned slowly, unsurprised to discover the owner of the hand.

“You alright?” Arthur asked, his gaze questioning.

“Yes, fine. Just needed some air, that’s all.” 

Merlin turned back to the window. 

“You’re a hero, Merlin. Can’t you learn to accept the credit?”

“I’m the same as I always was, Arthur. It’s just overwhelming to suddenly be recognized for all of it.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed, but he had listened all the same. 

“You’re still a riddle to me. And no less of an idiot.”

Merlin laughed a bit, and he stopped digging his nails into his skin. “And you’re no less of a prat.”

Arthur shoved Merlin’s arm lightly, before he too looked out the window and into the night. Camelot was quiet; peaceful.

“Where do you think he went?” Arthur asked suddenly, his eyes growing serious.

Merlin didn’t have to ask to know who he meant. 

“I don’t know. But I have a feeling he’ll be back.”

Arthur’s gaze drew back to meet Merlin’s, and he nodded with resolve. “We’ll be ready for him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And once again, the balance is restored to nature. Thank you guys for all your support for this story, it’s been a lot of fun. That’s the end, but I may end up writing a sequel. We’ll see!

**Author's Note:**

> I will be updating this story regularly. I have a pretty solid idea of where I want it to go. Thanks for reading!


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